Blood Sonata
by Stradivari
Summary: A strange teaser. Stranger still, is its simplicity. Yet the most dangerous & exotic factor is far from clear...are far from singular. Post TLCspoilers. Nominated for Best Wip & Best OC. [Not the Squel!]
1. Prologue

**B L O O D**

**S O N A T A**

_-_Stradivari_-_

**:i:**

**P R O L O G U E**

"_My only love has sprung from my only hate." _

_-Shakespeare; Romeo & Juliet-_

**:I:**

It rotated slowly, the 3D hologram achieving an almost solid quality that was emphasized by the dark lighting in the rest of the room. Beyond it were the criss-crossing lattices of azure, signaling the perimeter of the permanent time-stop. The blue-print altered as it spun; a curious contraption the rough shape of a pod; green against the pale face behind it.

Artemis flicked off the projection and turned on the lights, reaching for his jacket which was slung across the back of the revolving chair which he had recently occupied. His eyes felt tired- no doubt they were blood shot, yet he had only been working for barely three hours. He massaged his temples methodically whilst walking towards the door. It was the air, stale with that peculiar scent which dominated a vicinity that was deprived of time.

There was a hum as the door slid back to open a passage the net, and he stepped through into the cool atmosphere of the stone corridor beyond.

It was no uncommon for a castle to contain such a passageway. This was built for the safety of the aristocrats who could escape to a more secure location should their castle ever be captured by war or civil unrest. Undeniably, Fowl Manor was no longer a castle, though the passages still remained from when it was first built by Lord Hugh Fowl. The entrances, and indeed the existence of these routes, were usually kept secret, for obvious reasons. And even in the present 21st centaury, the walls were still standing- though with the slight modifications with advances in Stealth Technology.

Artemis Fowl the First had seen fit to keep such a traditional secret to his only son, though perhaps out of said tradition. Not even Angeline or the Butlers were aware. And now the chamber was housing the Fowl heir's most ingenious creation and almost two years worth of meditation and fruitless experimenting- none of which had worked to his satisfaction.

_Yet now…_

His thoughts echoed abstractly with the sounds of his own footsteps. _Time_ would be no barrier. And a sardonic smile made itself seen at the irony of the pun.

**:i:**

**Author's Note: I will be replacing the chapters as they are re-written. Just a note.  Also, there may be slight changes, but nothing major to the plot.**


	2. First Movement I

**Chapter 1**

**First Movement I**

**:i:**

Artemis had woken that morning in a foul mood. This was not extremely unusual for him, but perhaps did harbor its doubts under the current circumstances. The source of his discontent was a beep from his computer, around the time of two o'clock in the morning. This too was not bizarrely abnormal as the collapsible power-book was constantly fired up in his bedroom, and its purpose was to alert him, at say, two in the morning. However, what was abnormal was the fact that:

1. It had alerted him, which signified that his encryptions had not been able to deal with the matter thus 'beeped' for human aid.

2. The human aid could not prevent the matter from occurring. This was bizarre, abnormal and unusual rolled into one, resulting in the foul mood. That said, it was a very calm and composed mood, and though foul, it must be described as a sophisticated kind of foul. But foul, never-the-less. It had to be remedied. Now.

Butler knocked twice on the study's oak door. Artemis didn't even glance up, simply issued the imperative.

"Come in."

The manservant entered, but stood, just inside the door. "Artemis, are you having any breakfast this morning?"

The Fowl heir glared, seemingly from the back of his raven haired head. "No, Butler."

Butler smiled faintly. "You mother wants you- Mister and Madam Fowl are having breakfast out on the terrace."

"Not now, Butler. I am busy. Tell Mother I do not feel well and am missing breakfast."

"She won't believe you."

Artemis waved a hand in an irritated fashion. "Then make something up. Improvise- god knows you have done that enough times."

There was a short pause. They could hear voices, trailing up from the gardens; Angeline Fowl's laughter reaching the closed windows of the study like leaves dancing on a swirl of the breeze. Artemis straightened in his chair, turning to Butler for the first time.

"I require absolute solitude for the next half hour. No interruptions. Keep my parents clear as best you can. Just half an hour- that's all I ask."

Such a request would have been the norm a few years ago. Now, Butler was forced to raise his eyebrows. Just a fraction- enough to show that he knew what was afoot. Artemis smirked and turned back to his desk. The manservant paused, his hand on the doorknob.

"Earl Grey, Artemis?"

Even with his back turned, Butler could tell his charge had just rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. Now remember- no interruptions."

It was uncanny that the years had not taken their toll on Artemis' personality. If he closed his eyes, the manservant could have sworn that the young man sitting before him was once again, twelve years old. And he left the study, the door clicking shut behind him.

Artemis could not remember the last time his encryptions had been overrun. Technically, of course, this was not entirely true as Foaly had succeeded to loop his videos back in the Siege. And a few times since then. But those facts were not exactly to his taste, and therefore, he kept them filed at the back of his mind.

Now, however, his gaze would have cut holes in the screen and through anyone who might have been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end. His face was arranged in the same expression as the one he wore whilst decoding the Book. Though quite a few shades darker; figuratively speaking. And the numbers stared back at him, just as they had done barely five hours ago. Obviously, now they were one short in the millions column. Minus one million plus dollar sign equals a paranoid Fowl. And not without good reason. It buzzed insistently in his cranium, obstructing his thoughts with the childish refusal to believe partly because that part of him was too arrogant to admit that someone had beaten him at what he believe he did best, if not in this world, certainly in the next. It was impossible. Though once again, obviously, that fact was to be nulled and void as the balance of his bank account blinked at him, innocently one million dollars short. This was simply unacceptable.

He had, at two o'clock been woken by the alert to find a trigger had been set off by a breach in the five meters worth of solid steel protection that inhabited the perimeters of a section of the Fowl fortune. This was, of course, the modernized version of an off-shore account. In fact, it was probably so off-shore, it was somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Literally, though, was not out of the question.

Then again, what had set off the trigger was the point worth investigating. Or rather, who. Modern artificial intelligences were simply not advanced enough to out-think him. It was simply impossible. In theory.

Artemis navigated through the system. He would have to modify a few details, to say the least. But that was not the point that was bothering him at the moment- the point was who. He supposed that it was expected that sometime, someone would make an attempt to hack his account. But even though the measures had been put into place, the thought of success…

It had been too preposterous to be put into words. And that was his mistake- he had no one but himself to blame.

They had moved too swiftly for the system to net them. And when he had put his hands to the keyboard, they were taking their leave, quickly, deftly, and mockingly. Simply diverting another account to fill up the million US would not be enough, and this had only partly to do with his pride. Artemis continued to gaze morbidly at the unchanging statistics. Having liquidated most of his criminal activities, incidences such as these had not unearthed themselves with the regularity they once did. And even then, the positions of hacker and victim were reversed. And being the victim did not suit him very well.

Though the successful breach of his codes had the effect of a rather unpleasant surprise, this was not enough to block constructive thoughts in his mind. Whilst being more than a little annoyed, Artemis had drawn several conclusions on the matter. And the more he thought about them, the brighter his eyes seemed to grow, like a cat's in the darkness, waiting to pounce on its prey.

First of all, there was the matter of the one million themselves. Artemis steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. One million. Why one? Why go to the trouble (in fact, a lot of trouble) to back his account and take one million? If they were to settle some financial grudge against him, they would not doubt bankrupt him. Or at least make a reasonable attempt. But one million? It was as if the diversion had been just that. A diversion of something far more important. Yet, he had already swept around everything and they were still all unchanged; the results coming up clean.

Silence reverberated around the study.

Curious.

It was perhaps difficult to narrow the list of possible suspects. Artemis smirked to himself. No matter what his father said, some people simply deserved to be stolen from. He stood by that motto then, and he stood by it now. In any case, he had to find a way to remedy his father's reckless donations, which words and morals could not. And perhaps someone wasn't too pleased with his efforts. He couldn't blame them. For your multi-billion dollar business to collapse must be quite a traumatic experience, and now they wanted to settle the score. Amazing they had know it was him in the first place- and more amazing still was the fact they had removed one million.

Artemis frowned in thought.

It simply did not make sense. There must be another motive, and he only had to find it.

However, first things first. Artemis' proceeded to 'fix' the balance of the currency. Now he had an excuse, his conscience could not lecture about the injustice of this action. This thought cheered him up for a moment- then that moment passed and the individual sitting in front of the desk could be described as quite cheerless. Foaly must never find out about this. He was not in the mood to be gloated at. Then again, he never was and the circumstances rarely called for it, though when it did, the LEP consultant made the most of his victory. The other person who must remain in ignorance was his Father. There was no particular reason for this, other than awkward, unneeded questions and pride, again. He could not admit this to anyone except perhaps Butler. But that was only due to the fact that the manservant was a part of his revolving plan- and Juliet- but that was unimportant at this stage. Pride. It was such an inconvenience, a trait which had developed along with his other emotions. He scowled faintly. Mental discipline must not slack, even with all possible distractions.

The next step was locating the wretched hacker. This was more complicated then one would think. Simply locating the offender was not enough in this situation. It was vital that their identity could be unearthed. He actually needed to know where they lived and other details which could usually be ignored. And now, there was a slightly pessimistic foreshadow that this could not be achieved, residing in that dark corner at the back of his head. Fortunately, determination did not rust with age.

It surprised him somewhat that it took less than an hour to pinpoint the thumbprint of the hacker. From then on, it was a simple matter to feed the information into the search and the cross-referencing. And while the process took place, he couldn't help doubting once again. Perhaps it was paranoia…but he had never been wrong with such instincts before. However, instincts alone were not enough. He would wait until the referencing yielded results.

The print had been vague- an echo- but clear enough for the computer to work on. He watched as the area highlighted on the 3D globe shrank with each reference inserted. He had blacked out the windows so it glowed clearly against he shadows of the surrounding furniture. _Asia, China, Korea, Russia. _It centered on that point and the yellow line retracted from the Southern China Seas, Vietnam and the Philippines, jumping greater distances as the search narrowed down. The AI dithered at this point for perhaps a full five seconds, then it excluded South East mainland China altogether and the image of the globe disappeared to be replaced by an enlargement of the four main islands.

Artemis narrowed his eyes warily and tapped a key. The hologram began another, comparatively slow cross-referencing. The electronic prints were so close together, it was a near-complete mass of yellow. Two strokes of the pad brought the image into a clearer ratio, as the system continued to search. The entire procedure had taken more than ten minutes and counting. Artemis glowered, though the expression was barely visible. _More alterations_.

At his moment, he was distracted from renovations to the hologram by a beep from the computer. All prints inside the highlighted area were pulsing yellow- enlarged; there were the total of 78 locations. The AI had not been able to go on from this point, as the thumbprint had been insufficient to give its unique identity. And there was always the possibility that the hacker could have abandoned the computer somewhere, or moved it to another location. But this was a risk that could not be helped. And if his suspicions were correct, they would not do that.

Artemis considered the dilemma for several minutes, brain ticking over each option. He could not afford to spend two days searching for this individual. In any case, they were no doubt a pawn in a much more complex game. It was the person or persons behind them that would take the rest of the scheme. At this particular moment, Artemis had an annoying lack of hypothesis for what these could be, yet not so ignorant so that he was on the back foot. _Or,_ he thought musingly_, that was what it was supposed to seem._ No plan or guess could be guaranteed- though one did try.

He paused thoughtfully, finger hovering above the virtual keys of the projection. It lasted for barely a minute.

Footsteps and voices approaching from the landing. He held back a sigh and closed the hologram, opening up the tinted windows. For a moment, sunlight stung his eyes, and the crystal that was the projector dulled with an inaudible hum- then his Mother's voice called from the other side of the door, her tone anxious. He glared once at the grounds outside and re-arranged his expression. _Whatever happened to privacy? _Angeline had never really gotten over the fact that her son was now an adult and taller than she was. This entitled independence surely.

"Arty, Butler said that you were unwell- are you alright, darling? Can I come in?"

His eyes found the ceiling. _Obviously not_. "Yes, Mother. Come in."

Ironic that sabotage could wait while one's parents could not. Artemis glanced at his wrist-watch. _An hour_. He could spare an hour.

**:i:**

**Author's Note: Please note that I am not copying settings of any kind from TLC-and that developments in TLC are not included in this plot. If you are in doubt as you read on, this is a re-write and has been up on the net since February. Previous readers can verify. Please do not flame about that. Thanks.**

**-Also, I'm changing a few things which means I've come back and re-edited-this-rewrite-chapter and cut out the next one, which I'm going to re-write (of the re-write). **

**Please review!**


	3. First Movement II

**Chapter 2**

**First Movement II**

**:i:**

Perhaps the words 'Artificial Intelligence' were a bit of an overstatement; to the intelligences themselves and concerning the general conceivement of them. For most, the letters 'AI' represents something incomprehensible or from a 20th century sci-fi film. In fact, it is neither of these things. Google's search engine, for example, is an 'AI'. The analytical program inside an airplane is an AI.

Needless to say, Artemis found them tiresome; more times did they irritate him than they actually helped. There was a certain advantage admittedly- they could be set to do the more mundane tasks, and as mundane as they were, they could be done quickly and in most cases, efficiently as well.

Unfortunately, this was not one of those cases.

The sunlight was blinding as it was warm, the tiled patterns which made up the floor of the sweeping terrace radiating unfelt heat. It brought scents of tea and marmalade, tipped with the dew trodden leaves of summer bordering on autumn. He flicked his gaze to the table as his mother came sweeping up behind him. He lowered himself a chair. He had no other option.

Fowl Senior folded a stack of pressed white pages and slid them into an envelope, the sound of paper drowned in the beating of leaves against the azure sky. He looked reasonably concerned.

"Arty. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Father. A little tired, nothing more."

Angeline couldn't remain silent. She poured tea into a cup, sliding it across the table. "Won't you have some breakfast, then? You do look awfully pale." She reached up and laid a hand on his brow. "Are you absolutely sure you're not ill?"

Artemis took the cup gingerly. "Mother- I'm always pale."

She looked doubtfully at Butler, who stood just outside the doors. "Butler did say he was a little unwell…"

Her husband picked up the newspapers, as he did every morning. "I expect Arty instructed him to say that." He said, unfurling the first page and glancing at his son. "Am I correct?" There was the barest hint of a smile at the edge of his lips. Angeline looked rather put out; deprived of her chance to fuss. Artemis inclined his head at the manservant.

"Your game is slipping, old friend."

At this, his father chuckled and to his surprise, did not pursue the matter.

He was impatient to return to his study, excusing himself from the reproachful gaze of his mother. It made him feel oddly vulnerable, a reminder that he had only been a child, not too long ago in the past.

The windows blacked out, the feeling was shut away along with the light- and he was allowed to return to the comfort of work; work which had become more or less 'uninteresting' in terms of risk and the childish adventures long gone. Time had its whims, it would seem. Although he would not admit this, the calls from Mulch and Holly were the only escapes from his new-found, risk-free and very narrow life. He treasured those escapades.

Artemis guiltily re-activated the sleeping projector, perfectly aware that he still enjoyed what his father may call 'black' but what he called 'the lighter shade of grey.' Of course, he argued, this was most certainly white- he was simply taking counter-measures against an assailant who may prove to be extremely dangerous.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, Artemis' subconscious fervently hoped against the contrary.

The map re-appeared in front of him, four islands dominating the projection. The 78 points glowed an improbable shade of yellow, unchanged and frustratingly over estimate. He stood still in front of the hologram. Cross referencing was all very well- provided you had enough references at your disposal. He drummed his fingertips on the polished table top, and then made a decision.

Crossing the room to his desk, he settled into his smug composure in front of the computer. The crystal eye of the camera perched on the corner of the screen. Reluctantly, Artemis booted the laptop.

Foaly had upgraded since the last batch of equipment had gone through. That was two days ago. This was how fast one had to work, especially to keep constantly ahead of the technology above. This was a race in which it was like playing soccer alone against a team of thousands. The word 'fair' did not exist and rules were there to take up space. Evolution of technology was going so fast, the police would have a field day with speeding tickets. Unfortunately, this evolution was not a one-sided event. The mud-people were picking up their pace and soon, it would only be a matter of decades- that and how unorthodox each race was preparing to get.

There was another disadvantage to the population boost- thanks to the advances in medicine. The prices of carrots had shot skywards along with the rest of the organic produce. Foaly crunched enthusiastically. Just when he started to actually need the vitamins- such a shame his salary didn't rise quite as fast.

He considered the images in front of him for a moment, then dragged one into a file with his index finger. The electronic webs spanned the slight curve of the Operations' Booth, which too, had been upgraded after the B'wa Kell uprising and a few times since. Of course, Sool still had his finger in the command of the LEP and it was the only time Foaly wished fairies didn't live quite so long. Or someone would murder the gnome. He reached for another carrot.

It was at this moment that a live-conferencing window floated to the front of the cluttered screen, cued on its own accord.

Foaly dropped the vegetable, which thunked onto an unfortunate keyboard nearby. When he replayed the incident later, he would realize that he shouldn't have been surprised. He would also realize that this was the beginning of a long, ageless era of trouble. But that was much later.

The centaur positioned his torso directly in front of the camera and enlarged the window, deftly checking the locks on the booth's entrance. Artemis was checking his nails. Foaly cleared his throat and retrieved his lunch.

Artemis spoke, eyebrows lifted in the permanent expression of cynicism. "Hello Foaly. How is the LEP?"

"Good enough. Long time no see. You called…why?"

The Irishman tutted. "We _are_ in a hurry. The formalities aren't over yet. What about my health?"

Foaly grunted. "At least you haven't changed."

"Well, I wouldn't say that. I doubt your attitude has changed in the slightest over the last hundred years."

"Are we going to chat like this about the good old days…or do you have a point to get to?"

Artemis smiled indulgently. "Alright. Procrastination over." He leaned closer towards his screen and continued conversationally, "The truth is, Foaly- I need a favour."

Foaly was beginning to smell a rat. _Need a favour_ ? When had he been so straightforward? Where was the manipulation? Where was the blackmail? Foaly sulked for a few seconds. Artemis could have at the very least, phrased the request as 'I have a challenge for you,' or 'I really need your superior intellect on this,' or-

Artemis tapped his screen for attention. Foaly looked at him, suspicion scrawled across his face. "Let's hear it then. No promises, mind."

He gave a courteous nod. "Of course. By the way, you sound like Mulch." At his end, Artemis opened a grided map. Foaly brought it onto full screen. Amidst the green lines were yellow dots, clustered like a constellation of stars. It took him a moment to get his bearings, for at first glance, he had thought Fowl had started mineral mining on Mars or something equally outlandish. An icon winked at him from the corner of his screen.

"You have mail." Said Artemis nonchalantly. Foaly ran a quick scan before opening the package. He looked back at the map. Then a smug grin made itself visible on his face.

"Aha." He stated.

Artemis shrugged lightly. "Aha, indeed. I need you to pinpoint one location, using the frames you have just received. Partial, I know, but it should be no problem for your computers."

Foaly wasn't going to let it pass so easily. He shook his head in a pitying fashion, as only a centaur could do. "Eighty, Fowl. You're not even down in the tens yet. And you're supposed to be quite clever."

Artemis bristled indignantly. "What do you mean, 'quite clever'? And its seventy-eight, not eighty.

Foaly chuckled and bit into his carrot. "Sorry, are you offended?"

Artemis ignored the question. "Well? Are you _quite clever _enough to track this for me? Or do I have to ask Mulch?"

The petulant reply was a flat "No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I can't track it for you."

The Fowl heir raised one eyebrow. "I never thought you would admit defeat so easily, my friend."

Foaly waved the vegetable in the air like an orchestra conductor. "No, no. What I mean is, whatever happened to equivalent exchange?"

Artemis glared coldly at him over the link. "Equivalent exchange?"

It seemed as though the orchestra was playing very loudly, at a very fast tempo. Foaly was enjoying himself. "Well, it's only fair. If I do this little job for you, then…"

"Would you like a shipment of carrots Foaly? Or Trojans?"

Foaly pouted childishly. "Hey, don't be like that. I help you, you help me. A little gift of a certain program would suffice nicely…" He emphasized the word 'little' by twiddling his fingers. Artemis considered him for a moment.

"Alright. Provided that you can track the print in the first place."

Foaly wagged a finger. "Wait a second. Give it here first. Then I'll work."

Artemis leaned back in his swivel chair. "Keep deluding yourself Foaly, it may happen. Next."

"Seriously Fowl, I'll get this thing for you easy- twenty seconds max."

"With your equipment I'm sure. Just do it and I give you my word that equivalent exchange shall be kept. And please, do not haggle- my brain can not stand much more of your whinnying."

Foaly glowered at him, but began calling up the co-ordinates on the screen. He muttered audibly as he worked.

"It's barely a ghost in the systems...are you sure you ran an in-depth enough scan?" he didn't wait for an answer. "Trust you to force me into doing something so manually boring. If I have to use budget to pull in a bird, I'm going to charge you. What's this anyway?" In truth, he never expected an answer. He wasn't disappointed.

The centaur zoomed in on the land area, eliminating the 78 locations one by one. This took longer than he expected, satellite being, oddly, next to useless in the equation. The irony was, he had complained about the use of satellite barely moments before. Actually, it was nearing twenty minutes when, finally, two dots remained glowing on the map.

Foaly had grown steadily grumpier (and no taller) as time ticked off its seconds.

Artemis set down a china cup onto its saucer, smirking. It was an infamous expression, its message very clear.

The LEP technical consultant grunted under his breath. "Yeah, why don't you do it yourself then?" He tapped the keys and details written in Gnomish scrolled out beside the three remaining dots. Well, one dot. The others were framed red. Foaly swiveled around in his chair, paranoia plastered like plastic surgery on his face.

"What exactly are we looking for here?"

"Don't worry yourself Foaly. Now, the references, if you please."

The centaur folded his arms and spoke in a voice that suggested the individual speaking was reading from a textbook. "This one was registered to be the brain of a leather stitching company- wasn't that last centaury- sorry, sorry, yes. Ahem. Leather stitching company, mainly shoes." He paused, incredulous. "Why do you need to know that, Fowl?"

Annoyance flashed across Artemis' features. Then he was the gentleman again. "I don't." Foaly opened his mouth to speak, but he cut across him. "Do you want the-" he spun the file on a hologram in front of the camera, teasingly. "-program or not?"

Foaly shook his head. "You're not going to tempt me. I'm going to find out sooner or later you know."

Artemis smiled as the 'edited' version of the map came through. He straightened his tie. "Of course you will. I shan't deprive you of success."

"What are you up to, little Arty?" Foaly scratched his head (since the Koboi incident, he had discarded his foil helmets.) "You know, you haven't changed at all. And I mean, _at all_."

Artemis' smile vanished. This was due to the 'Arty' comment, rather than the latter statement. "Be careful Foaly. You are repeating yourself. Perhaps you need to be diagnosed for symptoms of short-term memory loss or mental retardation."

By now, Foaly was down to the last carrot in the carton. He decided the change the subject. Fowl could get so sensitive. "You sure you can do this thing- whatever it is- on your own?" However, sensitivity did not stop him making jibes. "I mean, you needed help on cross referencing…so I thought I might just make the offer…and it wasn't that hard to do, the tracking. Did you see how I did it? Pure genius, the system anyway."

It was a minute before he replied. "Really, Foaly? I don't know about you, but there's two remaining variables on that map. I only want one."

Foaly frowned at the screen in attempt to hide his expression, running a quick analysis of both locations. Though the actual places where more than 10 miles apart, their registration and signature were completely identical. Everything ground to a halt, an imaginary question mark hanging in the middle of space.

He cleared his throat. "The program. Right. Yes, thanks."

Artemis completed the transaction in silence. Foaly's face radiated suppressed excitement. All for barely half an hour's worth of waiting. He had won, of course. This meant…

He checked quickly through the file. It seemed to be all complete, as far as he could tell. Then he ran an extensive scan.

Artemis could see what he was doing and he clicked his tongue. "Really, Foaly. I am offended. I'm a man of my word, and you can trust me."

Foaly's eyes scanned the results. "Yeah, well. I don't trust your word."

Artemis smirked- this was his most frequently used expression. "You have forgotten something, my quadruped friend. But no matter, I have things to attend to; as I'm sure you do as well."

"Yes." Interrupted Foaly, sarcastically. "Busy lives, hunh?"

The young man ignored the comment and closed the link. It caused no little relief. At any rate, he was consoled by the fact that, if a situation ever called for such services in the future, he needn't consult Foaly. The bug he had planted in the program would serve as a remote receiver of sorts, and the centaur would remain oblivious. He surveyed the information in front of him. _Twins._

His smirk widened.

**:i:**

An essential factor to surveillance equipment is that they only worked one way. An impossible feat- so far into the century. A similar example would be the one-way mirror- the window looking in could not be used for looking out. Bugs and Spy-ware (the 21st century had brought a whole new meaning to the terms) were designed so they could not be used against their original users, who were usually the creators. A basic principle which, if broken, could prove unimaginably useful.

In this instance, the hacker had left a small present, which had ceased multiplying when the server's AI discovered it. This was mainly due to the fact that the AI had a back-up. Artemis.

The hacker had disappeared with more than a misty print. And though the virus did not provide any hints to the individual's motives, it did provide form for him to cross reference with. It also brought a dry smile to the edge of his lips; characteristically smug; bloodless like the petal of a flower, unfurling to winter ice. Little touches like these could ruin a perfectly ingenious plan. This was the genre of humor he understood and appreciated…though under the circumstances…

He brushed away the thought for later contemplation.

He had no doubt whatsoever that Foaly would be trying all he could to find out what he was doing- namely, what was locked under the dots. In all fairness to him, Artemis would be doing the exact same thing, had their roles been reversed. And this was the reason that he only gave Foaly what he could find on his own- 'reveal' being a delicate art. He toyed with the pen top, updating and bringing the new map onto the projector. It adjusted before he could blink, enlarging on to the southern end of the country.

With a finger, he dragged the pop-up of the details concerning the excluded ID to the edge of the screen. Then he turned back to the other two. Twins. Now how was that possible?

He tapped once on the keyboard, navigating though the data.

Impulses. Foaly's system worked with electronic ID, prints, information and impulses. Unique impulses. They were not frequencies- impulses were more precise; a fingerprint of whatever they were of. They were all different, even if by a minute amount. Just as two human fingerprints were never the same, computers were all unique. You could set encryptions for this, but ultimately, until the digital world and cyber space evolved to organic material, you will always be labored with an identity; with a print. In fact, the organic era would summon the dawn of another kind- DNA. He would worry about that when the time came and the market was ready for the evolution.

Even identical twins had varying fingerprints. In theory.

Artemis brought two separate windows to the foreground of the hologram, one for each of the impulses. He read through the list of gibberish in each one, then ran another scan through the information Foaly had obtained on them. Identical. Which meant one of them was a fake.

Unconsciously, Artemis applauded. Replicating impulses was harder than it sounds. For most, hackers included, the replication held a flaw and consequently produced nothing more than an electric signal emitting from the appointed location. No good to anyone. For those who were more skilled in this area, the impulse would retain the same identity over any sweeps, searches- for example, cross-references- and therefore remain undetected. This was exactly what Artemis' pair of twins was doing- hiding each other. Except that every e-strand, and from what he could see of the print, were perfect clones. Indistinguishable. He would have to dig deeper.

He opened another file on the projection. What he needed was a reference, a factor that would pinpoint the split in the two impulses. It was there- he just had to find it. He set the computer's AI to work, feeding each byte of code into the referencing. One would be sufficient- just one; it would expose the difference in the two and whichever matched that 'difference' would immediately eliminate the other. A simple, but perfectly workable plan. More importantly, it was accurate.

He crossed to the window, and after the pause of his hand, touched the glass once to clear the black away, like a painter, thick brushes of white against the dark background. Behind him, the projector sensors compensated, throwing bright neon lattices of color upon the ceiling. He frowned. They were supposed to form inwards, not flash light around the room.

Somewhere beyond the sea of smooth immaculate lawns, a bird called. And suddenly, it was sunset.

Artemis started at the sound of his own voice, hand jerking from the window sill on which it had been unconsciously resting. He looked skywards, surprised at the brief lapse in concentration. The sun shone with unforgiving harshness; only a few grey clouds to dampen the sound. To his relief, it was still afternoon. He turned to the table, shaking phantom thoughts from his head and the real Artemis retreated with them. A hand reached and blacked out the windows once more.

The twins were still twins. Except that the computer had found a match, between the virus and one impulse. Artemis had had no choice but to wait for this final result. Hacking into the locations (apartments, both of them) he had no further clues as to which one was the real thing and which was the decoy. And he had no doubt, once again, that both were being monitored.

He checked the map, fading one point and zooming in on the other, the feeling of satisfaction lodging in his chest. He proceeded to scroll through the tenants list, while entering the newly found data into the cross-referencing. The words whipped continuously, line after line. He needed the address, the name- preferably everything. His hand flicked the virtual keys idly, eyes traveling down the page.

It was then that it struck him. _This one; registered to be the brain of a leather stitching company…_Why had that even appeared with the other two locations during Foaly's initial referencing? Its details should have had it excluded, picked off, eliminated from the list from the first frame put into the system, impulse or no; it was conditional. Artemis swiftly zeroed out from the close-up of the building's blue-prints. His mind screamed idiocy, just as the overview map was brought into view. It froze there, like his expression.

Nothing happened.

Then, without warning, the hologram blinked off. He caught something out of the corner of this eye, flickering- like an image does when it is being brought to and fro in a projection, or-

Then the whole server shut down on its own accord, his hands still frozen over the keys.

**:i:**

**Author's Note: Yes. Had a brainwave half way through writing this chapter, so had to start again. Now it looks kind of…patchy. Better than before? Worse? –oh dear- CC very welcome-**

**Please review!**


	4. First Movement III

**Chapter 3**

**First Movement III**

**:i:**

_Fowl Manor, Dublin, Ireland._

Whoever it was had launched a virus and incapacitated all networked computers. This, unfortunately, included security. Amazing. Annoying too. But amazing none-the-less. Artemis kept cool and counted to five. On four, Butler burst through the study's old fashioned door. Un-amazingly, he had his gun out.

"Artemis-"

He cut across him. "Yes, I know. Security has been shut down. And no, it wasn't me."

Butler lowered the gun. Even though he was still buzzing with paranoia, he holstered the Sig Sauer as Artemis attempted to restart the laptop computer on the desk. It stayed mute, tone-deaf and dead. He clicked his tongue at the back of his throat in frustration, but did not hide the resignated smile. Crossing the room, he plucked the phone out of its cradle. No explanations had been necessary. Just a raise of the eyebrow.

"Minerva?"

"Naturally, old friend. Someone hacks into my bank account and mysteriously siphons one million dollars away. They leave a virus print in the system, I track it down, an invisible bug disables the network. Ingenious."

"Minerva." Said the manservant, his tone convinced. Then he smiled. "Ah. It's your birthday in a few days."

Artemis grimaced, turning back to the phone. "Precisely, Butler. I should have expected it, really." The phone's engaged tone droned dully in his ear. He replaced it with a click. "No go. She's blocked the audio."

Butler chuckled, settling into the only spare chair in the room. As usual, the sound was rather endearing to those who were not used to it. "Surely you can bypass that."

He scowled, faintly, but the expression held no anger. He turned the lights on by hand. "There's no point- she knows she has 'won'. And in any case, phoning her would just give her the satisfaction she wants. Remember the first time? We never phone each other afterwards. It's not …traditional."

Butler gave him a matter-of-fact look. "If memory serves me correctly, Beau was…ah, expelled last month."

It was Artemis' turn to look pleased. "Well…that was obvious humour. In any case, she has gone a tad too far this time. She should know that security is out of bounds, and it gives both of us, such a scare." His voice dripped sarcastically.

"Minerva was in hysterics after the news reached her."

"I know." A frown flashed across his forehead. "This is too…big."

Butler leaned back in his leather chair. "It's two day's until your '21st' birthday. That's 'big'. Though I wouldn't put anything past her."

"And still you came in here, ready to blast the walls to smithereens. Glad to know we don't need drills."

Butler smiled, reaching out to flick a finger at a switch. It was situated under the table and controlled the main power for the projector in the center. Artemis' own invention, which he planned to bankrupt Sony with- though not quite yet. Soon, though when exactly the manservant didn't know, he only knew that Minerva was using this patent for next year's April Fools.

The hologram appeared, hanging like a retractable screen in the air. Artemis turned to it testily.

"The projector is hardly network." It showed nothing whatsoever, only the background colour, a barely visible blue against the light of the room. He promptly switched it off with a soft whirr.

"I'm guessing this means the virus worked?"

Artemis shrugged, a tinge on his cheeks. Butler chuckled again and heaved himself out of the chair. "Are you sure you're not going to ring her? Joke or not, it'd be better to check."

He checked his watch. "Hardly. The Paradizo's will arrive at half past five. I can be assured then. Do you know if Beau is accompanying them?"

Butler crossed to the door and opened it. "Yes, I think so. Though whether he will enjoy a night at the theatre remains to be seen."

"With the box design, seven is going to be quite a fit, so let us hope that he _does_ enjoy the theatre."

"Six. I'll be standing."

The young Irish man laughed quietly. "Old habits die hard, eh Butler?" he hesitated, then closed the door behind them with an inaudible click. "I will go and fix the technical…ah, malfunctioning. In the mean time, do a full sweep of the grounds. And the parameters."

They proceeded down the corridor until they reached the chandelier landing. Butler glanced curiously at Artemis' face. "Sweep parameters? Wasn't this a joke between you two?"

They descended a flight of deeply carpeted stairs, and he followed Artemis into the surveillance room. "Natural paranoia, old friend. It's what keeps the world spinning. In any case, just thin of it as following procedure, if that makes you feel any better."

Butler gathered the equipment from the bench at the far end of the rectangular room. "Following procedure. Do you realize that's the first time you have told me to follow procedure after Minerva? The other twenty times, I did it myself."

Artemis was facing away from him. Even so, the manservant could tell he was frowning. He entered gibberish via the keyboard, then said, as if an afterthought, "I know." And lowered himself into a revolving chair, without taking his eyes off the screen. "Now, I must remedy this." He tossed Butler a small, palm-sized communicator. Walkie-talkies on a different league. He didn't comment, but simply left the room.

**:i:**

Strangely enough, all his files were intact; nothing was missing and most importantly, there weren't anything 'extra' either. He studied the screen. It would seem that the sole purpose of the virus was to derail the security, and obviously to get him panicking. He was surprised Minerva didn't activate the alarms for good measure. Then again, that would have been too obvious.

Artemis manipulated the system, scouring through gigabytes worth of code and encryptions, searching for something, a gap, a rent, or a vulnerable patch in the web that sealed the networks. This too, was standard procedure. Minerva finds a weakness, Artemis reinforces. Artemis finds a weakness, Minerva upgrades the firewalls. Repeat.

Good friendship always worked this way.

He smiled, in spite of the fact that he could not see where her virus had entered. A wormhole? There was always the possibility that it had latched onto the old one, and buried itself in the network when he flushed out the initial bug. But his sweeps should have picked it up. A new bug. In the corner of his mind, Artemis prepared the script by which he shall interrogate Minerva with this evening. The rest of his mind thought back to the moment in which the system had shut down. He had been extensively cross-referencing the impulses- the two identical impulses to be exact. Minerva must have been traumatized at little Beau's 'expulsion' from high school. This was a lot of trouble to go to, for a joke- even by their standards. Or revenge for a joke- depending on the way you looked at the matter.

Artemis preferred the former one.

He reactivated the various security measures all over the manor, and was just about to do the same for the rest of the ground when he hesitated. This was twice in the last twenty minutes. The dozens of monitors in the room whirred softly, the screens flashing figures and images from the recently awakened videos. He could see the burly figure of the manservant down the driveway, walking towards the main gates- still sweeping. His parents were occupied in the lounge. As he turned up the audio feed, he could distinctly hear Beethoven's violin concerto playing from an ancient gramophone record. His mother replaced a cordless phone back in its cradle, turning to his father and saying, "That's strange. They're still engaged."

He returned his attention to Butler, and decided to wait for the completion of his sweep. The activation may in turn, activate something that was quite a bit more unsavory. He glanced at his watch again. It was quarter to four. He stared at the screen for a moment, rather absently, trying to pinpoint a particular emotion that was curling at the back of his head like some fern. It could be generally described as 'wrong'. He was absolutely right.

**:i:**

Butler worked his way in rounds, starting from the house and moving towards the front of the property. He would then begin at the main gates and proceed to sweep along the walls in an anti-clockwise direction. Usually, it was harmless, the things they did. For example, Minerva would tip off a motion sensor alarm, and Artemis would send Butler to investigate. Like he was investigating now.

He worked his way from a higher vantage point- on the parapets along the top of the meter thick walls, where the LEP had once set up the dishes for the siege years before. Stone gargoyles leered out at anyone daring enough to hold the notion of trespass in their heads. Butler checked a particularly ugly gargoyle, sliding away the back of its waffle lined stone scalp. Inside, the revolvable button cameras in each of the sculpture's eye-sockets were still and dull. Artemis hadn't activated the ground cameras yet, and was presumably following his progress from a lens situated somewhere on the exterior of the house.

Butler continued, scanning the lawns methodically with his eyes. That wasn't to say his eyes weren't aided. They were. Adapted V goggles (Two lenses over his eyes, like sunglasses, rather than the original design which was an over-the-head helmet type.) which incorporated x-ray, rudimentary heat signature-recognition system, and night vision. Among other things. It also included a targeting module which was made redundant by the lack of a XXXL size helmet which would house the laser weaponry. Artemis modified this 'glitch' to an extensive sweep which not only fanned as programmed but also followed the path of your retinas. Even something invisible behind a piece of cam-oil would be registered by at least one of the basic lenses. It would pick up anything emitting a signal or containing a scrap of metal- which the old, traditional handheld scanners were actually more efficient at doing.

At the present, Butler was operating both devices. As he turned, his eyes swept over the ground, one to fifthteen meters in front of him, which was the (only) path along the parapet. Dotted at the foot of the wall were small pods which too were deactivated. He returned his attention to the display screen on the lens. Even with the supposedly revolutionary distance-adaptation system, it still hurt his eyeballs if he stared at the miniature projection for too long.

Directly in front of him, the sweepers had picked up something; faint, as if it were only a heat signature left by a bird moments before. Yet it wasn't biological. In this instance, Butler was to discover that he was only half right.

He stopped. Or more accurately, froze. It was the first reaction to any detection of booby-traps. Butler hated wide range searches like these, especially for booby-traps. Especially if the booby-traps were designed by certain individuals who had IQs over 180. Especially if the booby traps designed by said certain individuals who had IQs over 180 were actually put there for jokes.

He tapped the side of the glasses, zooming in on the signature that centered on a small cross-hair on his screen. At the same time, he activated the palm communicator. Seconds later, Artemis' face appeared on his left lens, while the sweeper images jumped to his right. Extremely distracting. He pulled out an earpiece from the end of the left arm of the glasses, inserting it into his ear. Artemis' voice sounded, barely a meter away. Incredible quality.

"Problems, Butler?"

There was the tapping of a key as Artemis brought the images from Butler's sweeper lens to a screen. The manservant spoke to his palm. "Maybe. I've picked up something on the walls. Parapet, near the main gates. But I can't see it."

There was a brief moment of silence. Then he said, "Alright. Flick it through."

Butler obliged, focusing the lenses. X-ray. Nothing. Ultraviolet. Nothing. Polaroid. Nothing. But the signature on the hand held detector continued to glow. In fact, it moved vertically upwards. Metal that was not metallic. Impossible.

"Butler." Artemis' voice was calm through the transmission. "Walk a few steps backwards, then take off the glasses. Then tell me what you see."

Butler did as he was told, the sweeper-glasses collapsing into a blue-tooth like module behind his right ear. The afternoon sun had just begun to slant, hitting the top of the walls and elevated towers, throwing growing shadows on the lawns beneath them, spires, from some other invisible castle. And it was in this light, that the object was visible. Not to any lenses or rays, but to the naked eye.

Butler took giant steps backward, hand straying towards his gun-butt. He saw now that the object was indeed floating, suspended at the average chest height. Barely waist height for him. Artemis's voice spoke again in this ear, slightly impatient. "Well? What is it?"

The manservant descended the tower steps. The stone reverberated loudly, accompanying the disbelief that was reverberating in his head.

**:i:**

A bomb was not what Artemis expected to hear. And to top it off, the situation had gone from annoying to extremely dangerous. His eye swept over the rows of screens. Butler was running along the second floor corridor, heading towards the surveillance room. Artemis spun a slim, silver pen between his fingers, thinking fast. A moment later, Butler came through the door, slightly out of breath.

"Artemis. I think you should contact Minerva. Right now."

Artemis held up a pale hand. "No. That can wait. This is more urgent. A bomb. Are you sure?"

Butler laid the sweeper glasses on the bench, slinging an old fashioned pair of binoculars around his neck. "Not one hundred percent, but it's metal and it's leaking solinium."

Artemis froze. "What?"

Butler passed him the scanner. He studied the screen. "And it did not register on any of the lenses in the glasses?"

"No."

Artemis tapped his chin thoughtfully. "No doubt the rays wouldn't have either. Basic stealth skin, I would say at a guess. I can't be sure until I see it." He turned to Butler. "You can see it, can't you?"

"At an angle, with the sun light how it is now."

Artemis stood up. "Alright. I'm going to have a look."

Butler objected. "No. What if it detonates?"

The savant looked at his protector coolly, crossing to the door. It opened without a hiss on its mechanical arm. "Then we shall have to be there to prevent it, won't we? I have no wish to spend millions on damages. Now listen. We will need certain tools."

**:i:**

Ten minutes later, they were both at the foot of the tower, and Butler was still not convinced. "You can stay here. That bomb could blow up while we're both standing next to it. There's no need for you to die."

At this moment, they were on the opposite side of the walls, with a wide gulf of lawn between them and the bomb.

Artemis sighed, and climbed the stone steps. "One, it will only detonate if it is a bomb. Two, it hasn't detonated at the blank of security, so it will _only_ detonate when we _are_ in range. And three- I'm a genius. Trust me."

**:i:**

Butler handed the binoculars to Artemis, who focused it in the direction the manservant was pointing to. And there, slightly above the lip of the parapet was a roughly rectangular object, floating in the air like bad reception.

"Hmm," said Artemis, thoughtfully. "Stealth skin. Very expensive to mine; not that humans know that yet. I am guessing this is artificial, and our technology isn't advanced enough to manufacture Stealth material that lives up to its name. That is why you could detect the metal."

There was a pause, as Artemis did some very quick thinking. The bomb wouldn't wait forever. They had to neutralize it. He checked his watch for the third time that day. Fifteen past four. He turned to Butler. "We have to deal with this in its worst possible scenario. I sincerely hope that it isn't true, but if it is, we should not be harmed, at this distance. Are you finished?"

Butler hefted the springed shooting contraption onto its stand. On its end was secured a large, retractable lead box- which, at the moment, was folded back upon itself, shaped like a teardrop bullet. Solid lead reinforced with titanium, Artemis reasoned would be sufficient to contain the bomb's detonation as well as any shrapnel the explosion produced. The shooter would give them range and accuracy- instead of the alternative in which Butler would have to lob it across. It would fall short, as no one could throw something like this at this distance-not with such a lack in curvature.

Butler studied the scope and aimed, crouching on the hard stone. The box would cover the bomb from up-side-down, then closing the 'lid', which would cover the bottom of bomb, and would seal close at Artemis' remote signal. Needless to say, timing had to be very precise. Artemis' theory was that the bomb would detonate as soon s an object (i.e. Artemis and Butler) triggered its proximity sensor. This unfortunately, could be anything from one to one hundred meters radius. Artemis thought it unlikely that the bomb would be set to demolish half of rural Dublin, but if his theory was correct (these were, at the moment, two different things) then whoever had put the bomb there didn't have much to worry about. He tried not to think the question of 'whom.'

Butler nodded. "On the count of three then."

The manservant put his eye to the scope. "Remember, Artemis. Wait until the box has covered the bomb. No sooner."

Artemis nodded, training his binoculars on the object. "Three. Two. One."

Butler fired. The spring catapulted the box/bullet/teardrop across the lawns and it soared in an arch towards the bomb. Then it dropped to cover it. Artemis pushed the button.

Then the bomb did something completely unexpected. By some sort of self propulsion, it flew over the wall. All of this happened in less that two seconds, but not before the lead box had uncoiled like some mechanical snake and dropped over it. Artemis pushed the second button, without lifting his eyes from the binoculars.

Both the box and the bomb beneath it fell like stones towards the earth. Meters above the lawns, it detonated, a blue flare shooting out like radioactive power lights from the closing slit of the lid. Evidently, the metal which made the bomb was far lighter than the lead. Or it was trying to fly upwards.

Before Artemis had time to fully register this possibility, the box hit the ground. And right before their eyes, an expanding radius of grass blackened and died.

Butler was oddly pale.

The expanding circle stopped, leaving a perfect ten meter radius of dead earth in the center of the recently manicured lawns. It was eerie, and he suddenly noticed that something black coated the birches beyond the path. It was ashes.

Artemis unclenched himself, trying to submerge his mind in facts. "Interesting. The flare couldn't go up…so it went down." He picked up the fallen remote, which he couldn't remember dropping. They descended the staircase. "The bomb is controlled. Someone could be watching us now."

"Unless the camera was installed on the bomb itself- in which case, there is nothing left of it except shrapnel."

Butler wasn't listening. He opened the box, which clicked and hissed rather agedly. What remained of the mechanisms scattered onto the ground in blackened metallic pieces. Artemis turned back to him, and picked up a piece. He wiped it with his fingertips, holding it up to the afternoon sun. It glinted there, as if determined to suck in and disparate the last of the sunlight. They both knew what it was now.

He smiled, humorlessly.

"I was correct. Bio bomb."

**:i:**

_Dublin International Airport. Ireland._

The attendant showed them into a small private VIP lounge; synthetic wooden furniture and cream couches. One of the room's occupants turned in her seat as the door opened, a smile lighting up her face when she saw who had entered. It seemed to be genuine.

"Artemis!" she swept across the room in a rustle of silk and he noticed, rather distractedly, the glitter of diamonds at her throat. Artemis smiled, graciously.

"Minerva. How are you?"

She tossed her hair and waved a regal hand. "Fine, fine. Bobo! Come and say hello."

'Bobo' Paradizo was now thirteen and did not appreciate the nick name very much. He also did not follow Minerva's sense of dress. Admittedly, he was wearing a suit and leather shoes, but his tie had disappeared along with the top button of his shirt. The youngest Paradizo sauntered over under Minerva's hawk-like gaze. He stuck out a hand, not meeting Artemis' eyes. "Hello. I'm Beau." He said pointedly, giving his sister a poisonous glare.

Oblivious, Minerva combed back his hair.

Artemis shook his hand, amused despite himself. Minerva motioned to her father, who shook Fowl Senior's hand and kissed Angeline's. He smiled warmly at Artemis, a strange, disconcerting warmth which did not put him at ease. Butler cleared his throat.

The French girl, looking delighted, embraced him. Artemis' dry smile remained fixed on his face.

Beau fidgeted, trailing behind the group as they exited the lounge to return to the Bentley. Minerva linked his arm, and he was suddenly grateful for the glasses. She didn't seem to be uncomfortable at all.

"I cannot believe you did not tell me of this sooner, Artemis."

He looked innocent. "I beg your pardon?"

She rolled her eyes. "The opera house. It's opening tonight. And you only told me a week ago!"

Artemis glanced at her. "And that isn't enough notice?"

She held her nose in the air, giving him a patronizing look, slid beneath her lashes. It didn't help that Artemis was taller than she was.

"Honestly. I rather thought you didn't want me to come."

They crossed the tiled Arrival's Hall, voices half drowned in the conversations and announcements overhead. Artemis held the door open for her, the day's setting wind blowing their hair into their faces.

"If I didn't' want you to come, I wouldn't have invited your family. Anyway, it's not of large importance."

She ushered Beau through the door. 'That's what you say." She narrowed her eyes prettily at him in mock suspicion. The afternoon was sinking into the first scents of Dublin evening, complete with neon-lit signs. Minerva wasn't finished. "Are you sure you're not hiding anything from me?"

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think you are? My wife?"

This prompted laughter, and under the light, he thought he saw a tinge of rouge upon her cheeks. A moment later, he joined in.

They entered the cool interior of the Bentley and Butler started the engine, maneuvering them smoothly out of the airport car park. Artemis passed her a crystal flute and tried to appear relaxed in the smooth leather upholstery. Beau was already staring out the windows- which were blacked out. He took the opportunity of casual conversation.

"Beau. How old are you now?"

Beau glanced up. "Fourteen this June. Why?"

Minerva her brother a reproachful look. "Don't be so rude, Bobo."

Artemis chuckled. "Are you enjoying high school?"

Beau shrugged rather carelessly but Minerva poked Artemis hard in the chest with a polished finger-nail.

"On the subject of high school, I have a bone to pick with you."

Artemis' expression betrayed nothing- aided once again by the glasses which he had conveniently left on. "So many accusations in one hour, Minerva. It would seem as though you spent your flight here ordering the notes for them."

She sniffed. "I still have to pay you back for Bobo. You have no idea how stressed he was."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "You mean that you were stressed." He glanced at Beau. "I presume your sister came to see you."

The teenager scowled deeply. "Embarrassing. I knew it was you though- I'm not stupid. Like someone." He gave Minerva a significant glare.

Minerva blushed. "Artemis decided to play a joke on me. But don't worry- I'll make sure I give him something to panic about sooner or later." She sipped her champagne. "Preferably sooner."

Artemis raised his palms, struggling to keep the flow of the conversation. Inside, his mind was torn in relief and a new problem. It can't have been Minerva. She hadn't made her move yet. Yet….yet it was a possibility. It made him feel sick just thinking about those possibilities. He pushed them aside to the back of his mind. He couldn't do anything right now anyway.

Please. Let us act appropriately for Bobo's- sorry, I mean, Beau's sake." He amended, inclining his head at another fierce scowl from Beau. It must be quite repetitive for him.

Minerva decided it was time to change the subject. "Am I correct in saying that the President is opening the theatre tonight?"

Artemis nodded. "Yes, he is. The opera itself doesn't' start until half past seven, but with the formalities…the patrons are expected to be there by half past five at the very least. Horribly tedious."

She tapped the face of his watch. "It's six now, and we haven't arrived."

He smirked, arrogance scrawled across his features. "I know. Designer privileges."

At this, Beau looked up again, smiling at Minerva. "You haven't designed an opera house yet, have you Minerva?" he said in French.

"Beau…" cautioned his father, who sat at the front and had overheard the exchange. The boy shrugged and returned to the standard staring. Minerva fumed for several seconds while Artemis drank his champagne, still smirking.

**:i:**

_Dublin Opera House. East Dublin._

Even through the noise of the conversations and cars, the water spiraling from the spinning orb suspended above the roof of the opera house foyer splashed audibly across the terrace entrance. The slab of glass above the rising marble steps was curved artfully to the earth, a sculptor's impression of a waterfall, frozen in the air like ice.

The atmosphere was thick, laced with opal shades from the chandeliers within, and they were grateful to step into the clear, altogether quieter interior beyond the entrance doors. The noises behind them were cut off abruptly, and instead, they were embraced with hushed voices, echoing to the ceiling above.

Minerva took a few moments, studying the foyer. Then she glanced back at him, reached up and plucked his sunglasses from his face. Artemis blinked. He had been surreptitiously scanning the contents of her bag.

"What was that for?"

She folded the arms of the glasses with thumb and forefinger, dropping it into a pocket. "We're in the theatre, Artemis. Don't be rude."

He led them across the patterned terracotta tiles. "Technically, we're not in the theatre yet."

She tossed her hair again. It caught the light, a curtain of golden curls, kept in place by clips and ornaments that seemed to blind people. "Whatever you say, Mister Fowl. I suppose you did design it, so you can distort all theatre rules."

"Opera house." He corrected her. "Are you going to give those back?" he indicated to his temple with a long finger.

Minerva tapped the side of her nose. "Maybe. Oh! Interesting…elevator…"

They had crossed the cavernous foyer and arrived at the glass doors of the elevator compartment, whose shaft was polarized fibre-glass, tinted a warm shade of brown. Traditional spiraling staircase worked their way around this shaft like vines around the trunk of a tree. At regular intervals, there were small landings, branching off to the galleries which led to the concert hall on one side, and the theatre on the other.

They waited for the others to catch up. Minerva was still looking around, subtly examining the décor. She gestured to the branching stairs, crossing the open air above them, as a group of tonight's patrons entered the elevator, talking animatedly.

"Peculiar." She said, thoughtfully. "Do you know what this reminds me of?"

Behind them, Fowl Senior, Angeline, Gaspard and the trailing Beau had arrived, accompanied by Butler. He had not removed his glasses. A few moments later- after the elevator had risen, then returned to ground level- Artemis led the way into the luxuriously furnished compartment; a glass cylinder with wooden panels and music issuing from hidden gel speakers. Glass lights tinkled.

"Do tell."

Minerva rested a hand on the smooth chest-nut bar, gazing at the foyer's tiled floor falling away as they rose past the tiers. "A tree."

He smiled at her. "Uncanny. A tree was exactly what I had in mind when I drew the plans. Full marks."

She nudged him with an elbow and pouted prettily. "Was that sarcasm?"

"I wouldn't dare."

"I should hope not."

"Yes, your highness."

"I might have been in France for the last few months, but I still know disdain when I hear it. French or not."

Artemis inclined his head. "Come, come. It was only a joke. In any case, you were right. The center design is an imitation, of sorts, of a tree. An oak, to be precise. An aspect which I altered slightly, after the initial entry."

The elevator came smoothly to a halt at one of the carpeted tiers and the doors slid back onto the landing beyond. From the balcony of the stairs, the pattern on the floor below was spiraling and rune-like. Beau lent right over the polished banisters, drinking in the people below in their colorful attire. He turned to his father and said, in English.

"This is so cool. You could bungee jump off here." Gaspard gave this random comment a hard stare. "Bungee jumping," he insisted, impishly, "A good tourist attraction. In New Zealand. You'd earn a fortune." Minerva rolled her eyes.

**:i:**

They climbed the gently arching steps to the gallery which led to short, wide corridors ending in doors which led to the small lobbies outside each entrance to the theatre's auditorium. By this time, they were one of the last to enter. They passed these doors as Butler led the party along the gallery and into a passage leading to another flight of spiraling staircases. They arrived at the top, and the manservant held back the door to a lobby of a sweeping private box. The filed into the seats, suddenly faced with the stage and the rest of the audience, a multi-coloured, glittering mass below and beyond. Their chatter rose to the curved ceiling above them, hung with chandeliers.

Angeline was consulting the program with avid eyes. A gong sounded somewhere within the walls, signaling the last of the audience to be seated. There was a collective rustle in the stalls.

The box was spacious in design, an elegant curve ending in a low, unobtrusive balcony. Extra chairs had been set; two rows of dark velvet. Butler retreated into a corner of the box, hidden by an abundance of shadows conveniently provided by the placing of the lighting far above.

Gaspard lowered himself in the front row, unzipping the case of his opera glasses. He surveyed the curtained stage, over the strands of the tuning orchestra. From their vantage point, they could view the rest of the theatre, and their audience; including the occupants of the other boxes. This was a small, but significant factor in both the opera house and the neighboring concert hall.

The Fowl's private box was shielded by three sides, with only the stage face open. A threat would have to come from there to catch the occupants of the box, and even then, they would have alerted their targets first.

The Brazilian surgeon lowered his glasses from his eyes, turning to Artemis, who was seated on the other end of the four-seat row, having a hushed conversation with Minerva, who sat between them.

"Indeed a beautiful auditorium, Artemis. It is no surprise that you won the competition- will you tour us after finale?" He had a refined voice, rather like a singer's.

Artemis nodded; the image of a gracious host. Gaspard tapped the padded arm of his chair. "You must be proud of your son, Angeline. Twelve years old, was it? A pity that France did not offer my Minerva the chance to-"

His daughter interrupted him tactfully, laughing, her voice a layer above the rest of the diminishing sound in the auditorium. "Pap, architectural design isn't the only thing I'm good at." She slid Artemis a sly- and was that triumphant? - glance under long, curved lashes. "I'm good at a lot of things." She turned away.

Artemis was glad that Minerva couldn't see the electrifying effect that simple statement had had on him. He studied her face, whilst pretending the scour the programme. Her words had made him feel uneasy…a tight, clenching feeling. Was it her purpose? He returned his eyes to the stage, a steady sound of strangely harmonized strands; the orchestra swelling in volume as they warmed up. Beside him, Minerva shifted in her seat, along with the sound of fabric as the chandeliers retracted into the ceiling, silently with the barest trace of the hiss.

In turn, hundreds of smooth, gently curving wooden sheets replaced them so the entire ceiling wooden, and the theatre was dimmed to darkness, except for a small, pale light in which the conductor walked amidst enthusiastic applause. Not one of the audience had realized the subtle switch above their heads, their eyes trained on the stage as the overture of _La Traviata_ began at the wave of the baton.

All except Minerva, who angled her head towards him. She nodded at the roof, which was now invisible, like a starless night sky. "Nice touch. The twist with tradition. I notice the lack of the dome."

Artemis smirked, the expression hidden by shadows. "Domes are outdated now- and now always practical. Especially with this design. The wood is not simply there to bounce sound, you know."

Her foot tapped in time to the rhythm of the music as the curtains swept back. The vivid colours sprang at them, like a splash of scarlet on grey. Strangely, he thought he heard her smile, and the feeling of unease resurfaced. The smile was a light sound, like a feather, falling though winter air.

"Not for acoustics? Hmm. I think you may have had too much creative licence. Still- better than the usual dimming lights routine. I like it."

"I didn't say it wasn't acoustics. It is, but not in the way you would think. After all, how effective can a ceiling plastered with wood be? The echoes would have been unbearable, no matter how extreme the gradient. Plus the wave would have been less than elegant. Dublin is not known for its beaches."

"Ah. Electronic?"

On the stage, Verdi's _La Traviata_ sang out, the infamous melody clear without the 'second-hand' quality one sometimes experience in recordings or poorly designed theatres. In this case, although they were sitting at the back, the music remained crystal. The strings held a brief pause on a high note, and Artemis heard his mother sigh, contently, in the seat behind him. This made _him_ smile, despite the situation.

"Yes, you're right." He leaned back in his chair. "Each pane of 'wood' is set with audio sensors, which projects the sound from the stage appropriately- or rather, reflects. A technique I stole from the multi-faceted diamonds, which reflect light. Of course, they aren't exactly sound proof, because vision is all they can detect. These are slightly modified. The sensors bounce sounds by analyzing the length _etcetera_ of the waves. Thus, no matter where you are in the theatre, the music will reach you, perfectly balanced." He paused. "That was the idea, at any rate."

"Very clever. And expensive, no doubt."

"Oh yes. But listen- the effects are amazing, no? This is what has made Dublin opera house unique." He smiled to himself, like dangerous Cheshire cat. Once again, no one saw. "There are other…features, of course."

Indeed, Artemis had modified the design only a few years ago, including the one concerning the acoustic-boards. The inspiration had come from the section-8 cam-foil, and after he acquired the blue-prints from Foaly's computers, it was a simple matter to apply his fantastic brain. To convince the budget was somewhat more difficult, though the anonymous donation soon took care of that.

And now, Dublin had the first and only National Theatre which used the boards- in the concert hall, likewise. Ingenious.

Artemis allowed a part of his mind to stray into the splendors of Verdi, whose masterpiece was the one to open many a theatre. _La Traviata_ contained four acts, and was commonly acknowledge being second only to _Madame Butterfly_, a love story applauded by the French and American. This was not without good reason, as the opera exploits audaciously, a theme that trod on rather dangerous ground for its time of composition.

Minerva touched his arm lightly. "You should have a word with the producer. Look at Alfredo Germont's costume." She lowered her opera glasses. "It's obviously from the 19th century. Wasn't La Traviata set around the 17 hundreds?"

"Technically, no one can be sure. I agree however, as do Verdi's notes and the actual theme of the opera- thought that is a vague indicator as well. Most modern producers prefer to set it in the 1900."

She sniffed. "_Oui_. A pity. Though Violetta is excellent. Who is the singer?"

Artemis wordlessly passed her a glossy program and a small pencil torch. He was finding it rather hard to concentrate on Opera at the moment. Especially sitting next to Minerva.

Behind them, Beau shifted restlessly in his seat, glancing longingly back into the small lobby which housed the refreshments for the end of Act I. On the stage, the soprano was singing her aria in soaring, quivering tones as the set spun smoothly to show an extravagantly detailed balcony compete with vines and petals strewn across the stage. Minerva returned the glasses to her eyes.

And after a moment, Artemis followed suite.

**:i:**

Nearly two hours later, they emerged from the lobby in the interval to stand on the gallery overseeing the entrance foyer. The line of arching windows that had shown the streets of Dublin a few hours before now showed the dark reflective waters of the sea. Amidst the discussion of Act II, Minerva noticed this change.

"We're spinning, aren't we?" she asked, sipping from a glass which dangled carelessly between her fingers. She tilted her head to one side. "Very slowly. It must be taxing…how will the people get out?"

Artemis leaned on the wooden railing, casually tapping out the rhythm of Germont's aria. "Taxing? I suppose you're talking about the mechanism." He paused, shrugging. "Not really. It would make a full revolution by the time the La Traviata is finished so the audience will have no difficulties in getting back to their transport. A nice touch, I thought."

Minerva propped her elbows on the railing beside him. "Go on. Enlighten me." She tossed her hair. Artemis noticed she did this deliberately, knowing it caught the light. And his attention.

"What…the workings of this place? Surely you don't need an explanation."

He gave one anyway.

"The whole structure is symmetrically balanced- even though it might not look it. It has a pivotal point." He pointed. "There, underneath the place where I've put the elevator."

Several people passed them by, pausing in their chatter as they noticed Artemis. Minerva nodded. "A raised platform, mechanical arms or support branching from there? Like a giant spinning top."

He inclined his head, pleased as always with her astuteness. "Simple."

"And it fits with your tree metaphor. But a revolving opera house? Please. That sort of thing was fashionable with restaurants around a decade ago."

Artemis looked injured. "Out dated? Surely not. You did not notice as we came in, but a third of the opera house itself is suspended above the sea. The promenade is spectacular, not to mention unique. It is balanced with the front roof, which means the highest tier is at fifty meters above sea level. Amazing view."

"Unique alright. Not quite. One day, we shall visit the aquarium, Artemis. Glass promenades and all. Plus fish. Twenty-four-seven."

A gong sounded from above, signaling the end of the interval. At this, she smirked and swept back towards the lobby, leaving Artemis with his aquarium analogy.

Butler reappeared at his elbow, glasses intact. Artemis thought he was smiling- though it was hard to decipher the exact expression. All in all, it was lighter than it should have been, considering the circumstances. Together, they followed his parents up the flight of stairs.

"She envies you, I think." Said Butler, who had obviously overheard their conversation. Artemis passed a hand over his face.

"You think so? Me, the design, or something else?"

They stopped at the top of the staircase, with the lobby between them and the shadowed figure that was Minerva. Beau was drinking something that looked like punch with great vigor. He caught sight of them, downed the contents of his glass and returned meekly to his seat.

"Frankly, we could both come up with something better for national theatres, given the chance. I was twelve when I drew this." He flicked a sharp, pressed cuff at the décor, which glittered back at him. "Far too immersed in grandeur and everything impractical. No, she is not envious, if even that. It must be something else."

Unwillingly, his eyes were drawn briefly to the Sig Sauer holstered under Butler's arm. It wouldn't be used, of course.

There was a long moment of heavy silence.

Then, "Do you really think it is her?" Calm, analytical. Nevertheless, his gaze snapped to the manservant's features. Both appraised each other for a moment. Down in the orchestra pit, an oboe played a solitary 'A', cued shadows creeping across the carpet like a wave as lights dimmed. Overhead, unseen and unheard, Artemis imagined the board turning, revolving to fit smoothly over the place where the sparking lights used to be. Two faced.

It prompted a memory from years before- in words, rather fragmented, as if he did not want to piece it together. He wasn't so certain anymore. There was doubt that hadn't been there before. A fluttering bird, the flutes playing their A in turn.

Minerva half turned in her seat. He read her lips. _What are you doing? Do you hate Verdi this much? It's starting. _

The lobby chandeliers turned themselves off as they passed into the box. Then, the only lights came from the stage as the curtains withdrew for Act III.

Whatever schemes and betrayals would have to wait.

**:i:**

**Author's Note: Finally! Sorry for the long chapter- I just didn't see it fit to split this chapter in two. Plus, I'd rather have a long chapter then another number added to the chapter count. Plot bunnies are eating out my brain! I thought the characterization of Minerva and Co. were a tad dodgy…but there is so little of her to refer to! She seems rather too…I don't know…Juliet in this passage. Then again, Juliet isn't like this. –feels like a failure- **

**For the Opera house bit (Why do I torture myself? Honestly.) I've actually drawn the rough plans out. So if you want to look, email me. Otherwise, I thought this chapter was slightly choppy. Anyway, must try to write most of this re-write before the nomination deadlines closes. –hasn't even introduced her OC yet. Eek.-**

**Phew. Uploaded. Long. CC –much- appreciated! Please review!**


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